A Year Without Christmas?
by Zettel
Summary: Short Story. S3-ish. Casey's pissed about Team Bartowski and the emotional stalemate between Chuck and Sarah. He decides to do some Christmas match-making, Casey-style. But to do it, he needs to get Shaw out of the way, and Chuck and Sarah together. Can he pull it all off in a day?
1. Prologue: Hatching

A/N: _Christmas Challenge! _I keep getting mailings declaring today the beginning of Black Friday, so...

For the sake of some Christmas fun, we revisit the downer-iest of Seasons, _Chuck _S3, more or less assuming its events up to the time Sarah and Shaw return from DC. But imagine that the return is at Christmas time. Canon-ish.

Our story focuses on John Casey, although we will spend some time with Chuck and Sarah too (in Chapter 3). And keep in mind that when we are in Casey's POV, we are really in it, so brace yourselves for some rough-and-tumble.

* * *

_'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and all through Echo Park..._

* * *

_**A Year Without Christmas?**_

Prologue: Hatching

* * *

Casey leaned forward, clicked off the closing credits of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas._

Still leaning forward, he put his drink down on the table beside him, then put the remote beside it. He wiped the corner of each eye with the back of his wrist, then looked around his empty apartment.

_Yep, still empty. _

Still sitting forward, Casey shifted his thoughts from the Whos of Whoville — to Bartowski and Walker.

_Estranged. _

Casey had had enough. Officially had enough.

Hell, he had officially had enough and unofficially had enough. Enough, shit, enough!

A _Roto-Rooter_ tank-truck shitload more than enough. Gawddamn it.

He had no clue what happened between Bartowski and Walker, why she had come back from Europe so icy that she made her previous stint as the CIA's _Ice Queen_ seem like a she had been gawddamn _Heat Miser_.

Casey had always liked that Christmas show, _The Year Without Santa Claus. _

_Heat Miser's flaming orange hair..._

He'd watched it again yesterday, his blinds down, as they were now.

Both Bartowski and Walker were acting like they had coal in their stockings. Bartowski finally wised up and dumped the tiny computer woman he'd been dating. Walker was still hanging on with Shaw.

Shaw.

Casey laughed internally.

He rarely laughed externally.

Shaw. Shaw was so stiff that, by comparison, Casey himself, no poster boy for the graces, was gawddamn Fred Astaire. Hell, gawddamn _Ginger Rogers_. He laughed again.

Internally.

Shaw.

At first, Casey had thought Shaw might be good for Bartowski. Untie the kid from Walker's apron strings. But then things between the kid and Walker got worse, with Bartowski _Reese's-Cupping_ the tiny computer woman and Walker apparently doing..._whatever the hell one did_ with Shaw: _mitosis, _maybe?...some term from a junior-high science class, some term Casey couldn't quite remember but a term that had to do with reproduction among _low-life_ forms..._lower_-life forms...

The problem. The problem was that this was shaping up to be _The__ Year Without Santa Claus _for Team Bartowski.

Walker was planning to go to DC. With Shaw. Bartowski had dumped the tiny computer woman, but he had also — sorta, anyway — passed his Red Test and was on his way to some cushy assignment in Rome.

Bartowski in Rome. An innocent abroad — with a gun. Mark Twain meets Ian Fleming. _Gawddamnit_.

Casey did not want Team Bartowski undone. _Hell, no_.

They had been...were...too good.

He had been proud of the Team, proud of _himself,_ gawddamn it, as part of the Team. But the Team needed Bartowski and Walker to be together. Not just professionally teamed together but personally teamed together. A twosome in order for there to be a threesome.

_That sounds wrong — but I know what I mean_. _The team is a set of two sets, one set, Bartowski and Walker, the other set, singleton me, and together we make a larger set, Team Bartowski. Right? Shit, I should leave the set theory — and the junior high biology — to Bartowski. Is it _mitosis_? _

Christ, the two of them were dumb as stones! Dumber.

They'd been Casey's _ladyfeelings cross_ to carry for two-and-a-half years. He'd lugged it along, mostly uphill, but it was time to drop it. It was time for them to carry themselves or this whole Team B thing would collapse.

Casey had to admit he had in the past danced on both sides of the double yellow line between Bartowski and Walker: sometimes wishing it would just become clear to them that it was impossible, sometimes wishing that they would just go to Walker's place and play Hide The Little Spy, _Ha!, _until one of them was brave enough to speak the words: "I love you." — Hell, Casey had less emotional subtlety than King Kong — _hell, Kong at least sorta had Fay Wray, but what do I have? — _and Casey knew Bartwoski and Walker were in love, knew it from almost the first night. Hell, maybe from the first night.

He was sure that Ellie, Bartowski's sister, knew it.

Casey was sure Shaw knew it too.

Shaw. Casey had finally recognized that Shaw's training of Bartowski had two goals — one in view, the other hidden. He was training Bartwoski to be a spy, but he was also prying Walker's heart loose from Bartowski, one new Bartowski mission at a time. Casey's missing teeth were a great example. Shaw hadn't known Bartowski would turn dentist, like that kid in _Rudolph, _the elf, the friend of Yukon Cornelius, _Hermey_, — Shaw hadn't known that would happen but he knew something like it would, eventually, and how it would hurt Walker. _Hurt me too._

The cunning bastard had figured out that doing the first was the key to doing the second: the more heartless, the number, he made Bartowski, the further he drove Walker from Bartowski, and the closer to himself. The Red Test, the timing, had been a brilliant tactic on Shaw's part, as had been making sure Walker administered it. Forced her into overwatch as the man she loved destroyed himself — and with her to blame. At least as Walker understood it.

_Walker's a gawddamn TI-class supertanker of regrets. Terrified of Bartowski penetrating her hull. She displaces vast amounts of water, she and her payload of regrets. — But how can anyone do this job and not have a payload of regrets, unless she...he…has zero moral imagination or is dead inside, a full-on or a budding psychopath? _

_I worry about my own regrets, about an accident, a spill. Ilsa. Kathleen. All the lies and compromises that are my life. Oil spill, right from the heart. Gallons upon gallons darkening saltwater. Tears. _

Casey cleared his mental throat_. Stop! Gawddamn Fa-la-ladyfeelings! _

_Hate, hate this time of year. Hate it._

_Alone_.

Bartowski had not pulled the Red Test trigger. Casey had. But Shaw didn't know that. The problem was that Walker didn't either.

And another problem was that Casey was not officially on-the-Team when he pulled the trigger to save Bartowski. That left Casey exposed. He could not claim to have been acting in an official capacity in shooting the gawddamn mole, Perry. Technically, legally...officially, what Casey had done was buried in a grey area, a very grey area, a fifty gawddamn shades of gray area, and Casey was not eager for the shades to be lifted.

_That could get messy. No control of the blow-back._

Still, it seemed to Casey that Walker's willingness to believe Bartowski executed the mole, — it seemed that belief was weakening. She had at first accepted it completely. But Casey knew she was asking herself questions about it now. Demanding that Bartowski explain how it could have happened if Bartowski did not do it.

What puzzled Casey was that Walker never checked Bartowski's firearm. He never fired it. The gun would prove it. _The unsmoking gun._

Walker was willing at first to believe the worst about Bartowski. Casey suspected that was because of all the painful flotsam and jetsam of her own Red Test, and the way Shaw had stirred that up too, making Walker administer Bartowski's. She could...should have just commandeered Bartowski's firearm and discreetly had it tested, out of the knowledge of Beckman. _Easy, peasy. _

But Walker had been distraught, ruined by what she thought was the ruination of the man she loved. Ruination for which she felt responsible.

But Walker was softening — it was just not in her to believe the worst of Bartowski for long, and that was why Shaw was pushing hard, pushing fast, _pushing_ Bartowski to Rome and Walker to DC. Shaw, cunning bastard, knew the overwhelming gravity between the two of them would reassert itself. They were like binary stars, orbiting each other. _Kepler's Laws — or something. More damn science. — Is it _mitosis? — _Shit, who cares?_

Casey began to think. Ponder.

_The gun_.

Bartowski's gun. If Casey could get it, he could give it to Walker. Make her realize the gun had never been fired. Casey was certain the gun was still as it was when Walker had given it to Bartowski at Traxx.

_But where is the gun_?

Bartowski must still have done something with it. — He wouldn't have taken it home. He'd have returned it to Castle. Would anyone have thought to take it, do something with or to it? Shaw maybe? — Maybe, but Shaw thought Bartowski executed Perry too.

The gun was there. Casey's gut said so. In Castle. Could Casey get to it?

_Yes. _Maybe he could give Bartowski and Walker a Christmas present: each other. But he had to get into Castle. The armory. He had to find the gun. And remove Shaw from the scenario somehow. For a while. Somehow.

Or remove Bartowski and Walker from the scenario. Somehow.

One thing was clear. Bartowski would not give Casey up. He had held onto the secret, never explained the Red Test. Bartowski would let the woman he loved leave him, believing something false of him. Let her go. And all because he was loyal. To a fault.

Loyal. _Semper Fi. _

Casey needed to fix this. But he needed to do it...artfully. Not only get the two of them together but remind them of what mattered, to each of them. _Each other_. Chuck did not want simply to be a spy, he wanted to be a spy with Walker. Walker did not want Shaw, he was a complete rebound, a predictable, familiar Larkin-like, sub-sub-Bartowski distraction from her pain. _— Likely, that was what Larkin was too, all the men in her life before Bartowski. Kept her mind off her baggage._

The beginnings of a workable plan shaped themselves in Casey's mind.

_Hell, if nothing else, it gives me something to do tomorrow, instead of rewatching _The Quiet Man. _Alone._ Casey already knew all the dialogue by heart_._

He sat back in his chair since he'd been hunched forward all this time, one elbow on one knee, his chin resting on his fist.

Still thinking, he reached for his drink, the heavy tumbler of Johnny Walker. He toasted himself. Silently.

_Silent Night_.

_Hate this time of year. _

He got up and changed DVDs in the player, taking out _The Grinch, _putting in _Home Alone. _Tricky: he was a little drunk.

He'd start tomorrow, first thing, first light, before anyone was in Castle.

* * *

A/N: This will be short but I will post it slowly. A prologue, three chapters and an epilogue.


	2. One: Foolproof

A/N: More of our Christmas confection. Sugar and spice...and lots of things nice.

* * *

_**A Year Without Christmas?**_

Chapter One: Foolproof

* * *

_3:42 am Christmas Eve_

* * *

Casey's alarm buzzed.

_Hate this time of morning._

_Morning. With a 'u'._

_Hate this time of year._

His military training did what it always did: he was up and on his feet with no identifiable act of the will, without a moment of trying. He was just _up. Marine. _

Using the same two fingers, he wiped each of his eyes. His eyes felt like someone had smeared sandy mayo on them during the night. He smacked his lips, thirsty, cotton-mouthed. His feet ponderous, he plodded to the bathroom. Flicking on the light sent a shrill screech along the pathways of his nervous system.

_Gawddamnit. _

A glass stood at attention by the faucet. Grabbing it, Casey filled it with water and took a long drink, then repeated the actions. He returned the glass to its sentinel position.

He opened his mouth, staring at himself in the mirror, moving his jaw from side to side with his hand. His face felt unhinged. Hell, he felt unhinged. _Thanks to Johnny Walker. _

Unimpressed with his doughy morning-after face, he turned, started the shower, doffed his boxers and climbed inside. The water was lukewarm. Before it became hot, he let a little run into his mouth and onto his face. Despite two glasses of water, he felt all Sahara inside.

He plotted as he stood beneath the water, almost blister-hot. Hot water was a luxury a soldier enjoyed anytime he could. He got out more alive, and with disciplined efficiency he shaved, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. His movements were taut and economical. Done, he glanced into the mirror.

The-man-in-the-mirror still left him unimpressed. That guy was getting older. And _aloner _— even if there was no such word.

After donning his clothes, his green Buy More polo and khakis, a pair of dark shoes, he grabbed a large, black duffle from his closet and began to stuff it with gear he thought he might need, weapons. Some smaller items went into his pockets.

The mission mindset descended on him. The December air was cool, or so said the weather station when he flipped it on to get a quick sitrep, so he put on an old red-and-black plaid CPO jacket.

He walked back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror again (the only mirror in the apartment). A frown formed. _I look like my dad. _His dad had handed the CPO jacket down to Casey.

_No use thinking about the old man. That ain't going to help. _

He looked in the mirror again, a final check.

He grunted. He'd do.

It would be a long day. _The Longest Day_. He needed to be at the Buy More early, break into Castle, retrieve the gun, then some driving and arranging, then Walker, then Bartowski. Then Shaw.

Casey picked up the duffle and slung it over his shoulder. The duffle had belonged to his dad too. A merchant marine officer. At sea, always. Never home for Christmas. _Just me and Mom, alone. _

The thought of his mom made him smile tautly as he put the duffle in the rear of his Crown Victoria. _Johnny-Boy, that's what she calls me. I need to _call _her. Don't know if I can..._

He had sent her a card, bought at Large Mart, and sent it on time, so at least she would know he was thinking about her.

The Crown Vic rumbled to life as Casey turned the key. Casey really needed help. Other than Bartowski and Walker, the Crown Vic was Casey's only friend in the world.

And then he had a thought, like a jingling of bells. _No, wait, there is another... _

_Good God, I hate to admit this to myself but…_

_But, even Santa needs a hand. A helpmost helper. An elf. My Hermey — a bearded Hermey, not a dentist Hermey. _

Half-annoyed and half-pleased, Casey pulled out his phone and dialed Morgan Grimes's number.

_Santa's Little Helper. _

He heard Grimes's sleepy voice on the other end of the line. Casey grunted. "Wakey, wakey, numb-nuts. Christmas Eve morning. Time for the mice to scurry…"

"Huh?...Who..._Casey_?!"

Casey explained.

* * *

4:20 am

* * *

Getting into the Buy More was straightforward.

As an employee, and one who often came early to set up or check the BeastMaster Grill Christmas display, _Fire on Ice _(Casey's creation, his title)_, _Casey had an access code.

Castle was another story altogether. He was locked out. _But_ _I have a key, sorta_.

He keyed in the access code for the Buy More and he went in, holding the door for Grimes, who, while with Casey, was a somnambulist. "C'mon, Grimes, or I'll kick your ass 'til you're wide awake."

Grimes shambled forward, voodoo-animate. Casey shook his head. _Some helper. My Hermey. Though he has the stop-motion walk down._

_Shit._

They made their way to the Buy More break room. Casey moved aside the lockers that concealed one entrance to Castle. Grimes seemed more wakeful, although he yawned as Casey bent down to study the mechanism, although he knew it well.

"How're we gonna get down there?"

Casey reached out and grabbed Grimes's arm, pulling him toward the Castle door. "I need your hand."

"My hand?" Grimes flowered into full wakefulness. "No, you can't _cut off my hand_. At least, not until I have a steady girlfriend…"

Casey dropped Grimes's hand like it was infectious.

"Shit, do you work up material that is simultaneously dumb and gross as hell?"

Grimes stared at Casey. "Sorry, I'm still waking up."

"Like that makes it better," Casey groused, then grunted.

He pointed at Grimes's hand. "It turns out, I can use your hand to get into Castle. Bartowski insisted that you be in the system, just in case…Ellie and Devon too. That was a long time ago, before you found out about Chuck, all of us, Castle. He wanted you to get down there in an emergency if you were in danger. Beckman hated the idea but Bartowski got mulish. — You should still be in the system." He stabbed his finger again at Grimes's hand but made no effort to touch it. "Put your hand on the screen, Hermey."

Grimes gave Casey a puzzled look, but pulled up the sleeve on his navy Buy More windbreaker and pressed his hand, palm-down, on the small screen.

A seductive female voice, robotic yet seductive, spoke after a scan of Grimes's hand. "Morgan Grimes. Secondary authorization code: Speak, _friend_, and enter."

Casey grunted. "Gawddamnit! Bartowski would get cute! Do you have any idea about the password, the code?"

Grimes shook his head at Casey, his eyes were full of pity. But he spoke confidently as he did. "Friend."

The tumblers tumbled and the door opened. Casey looked at it, then at Grimes, then away in thought. "Some _nerd_ code?"

"The ultimate nerd code. _Tolkien_."

Casey did not ask another question. He ducked through the door and Grimes followed. When the door closed, Casey stopped by a keypad, punching in numbers.

He turned off the Castle surveillance and then turned on the lights; he'd have to erase his electronic fingerprints before they left.

They went down the stairs, Casey leading the way.

"This place is too cool," Grimes gushed, still amazed that the place existed, that Chuck was a spy, Casey, and Sarah too. "You sure Shaw's not down here?" Grimes's gush petered out; he sounded worried.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The Bumble's still sleeping..."

"Wait," Grimes interjected, "Hermey...The Bumble..._Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" _A consternated regard replaced his earlier pity. He looked at Casey's jacket. "So, are you Yukon Cornelius."

"Hell, no, numb-nuts." _Maybe_.

Grimes's eyes came back on the relevant channel, his consternation waning. "How do you know Shaw..._The Bumble_...isn't here?"

"I put a tracker on his _fancy-dan_ car weeks ago. Never liked not knowing where he was."

Grimes gave Casey a sharp look. "Why?"

"Because there's something wrong with that guy." Casey's voice sank to a growl. "Don't know what it is — but it's there.

"It's like this story I read once, about some rich Englishman who kept birds. One day, out somewhere, he saw a dead bird, stuffed, and he thought it was beautiful. So, he went home and had his servants kill all his birds and send them to a taxidermist."

Casey paused. "I don't know what it was, exactly, but there was something wrong with that Englishman. Shaw gives me the same creepy feel…"

Grimes was staring at Casey, open-mouthed. "You? Read? Birds?"

"Shut your candy-cane hole, Grimes. And, hell, I wasn't hatched. I may be a hard man...I _am_ a hard man," Casey heard his own voice thicken, felt it, "but I care about...things. The rich guy in the story is fouled up," Casey paused, smiled darkly, "no pun intended, and Shaw's fouled up too. Something to do with his wife. Some pain, bad pain. He's...fixated...on his wedding band."

Grimes was now blinking at Casey, still stunned, but his mouth was closed. He shook himself a little. "Huh...Now that you mention it, the guy seems...off. Stiff as a board, particleboard."

Casey allowed himself an evil smirk. "Yeah, Shaw's the stick up his own ass."

Grimes laughed but seemed afraid to laugh too loud. "So, Casey, tell me again why we need to be down here — if we're trying to get Chuck and Sarah back together?"

Casey knew Bartowski had told Grimes a lot about what had happened since Bryce sent the Intersect, but he was sure he had not told Grimes the truth about the Red Test. Maybe he'd never even mentioned it. Casey would not tell it.

"Let's just say there's something down here I need to help me convince Walker to get her shit together, realize where her heart's at, instead of denying it and trying to convince herself it's with Shaw."

"Why's she with him? The Bumble? Doesn't she get the creepy vibes?"

Casey could not believe he was standing in Castle, talking about Walker's ladyfeelings with Grimes.

_Strange times make strange out-of-bed-early-fellows_.

"I dunno. She did at first, I think; hell, she was slower to accept him than I was — but then things between her and Bartowski got so screwed up. She's been...off ever since. She's confused, mistaking her rebound from Chuck for attraction to Shaw. But it's still Bartowski that's _moving_ her, has been from the beginning. Don't think it will ever stop. He's her...mover. To him or away from him, he's causing the movement."

Grimes shook his head, but not in disagreement. He was looking at Casey as if he didn't know him. "That's...insightful, dude."

"Christ, doofus, I _see_ things. _I know shit_. Not Tolkien-shit, I reckon, still... — Stay here for a minute."

_Jesus, the blind leading the blind._

Casey stalked toward the armory. Once inside, he examined each handgun. For a moment, he thought he had guessed wrong, that the one he was after wasn't there, then he found it shoved back in a drawer. Bartowski had wrapped it again in the napkin Walker had it under when she gave it to him. Casey picked it up carefully with the napkin and put it in a plastic bag he had folded in his back pocket. He had banked on Chuck wanting to get rid of it, get it away from himself. He had not banked on Bartowski gift-wrapping it.

Casey was counting on Walker recognizing the gun, the very gun. Casey could do it, identify the token and not just the type. He thought Walker could too. And then there was the napkin.

The napkin.

Bartowski must have gone back inside and gotten it. Proof of how rattled he had been. That night had played havoc with the kid, even though the kid had not executed Perry. Instead, Casey's shot ricocheted Bartowski into two different falsities, two different refusals of the truth: letting Shaw and Beckman believe he had done it, and begging Sarah to believe he had not, all-the-while refusing to explain. It had driven him toward an attempt to be the spy Shaw wanted to make him.

Casey could now see that project was doomed. _Fucking hopeless. _Bartowski might _spy_, but Bartowski would never be Shaw's sort of spy. Emotionally absent, rigid, duty-bound, blind to pain, his own or others. The kind of spy Casey had been, Walker was reputed to be, until Bartowski.

Proof of that was current: Casey standing in the Castle armory after breaking in, trying to help his friends find their way back to each other. With the aid of Grimes. Grimes. _If someone had told me this two years ago, I'd have shot him between the eyes and quicklimed his body. _

The truth was that Casey was a better spy for knowing Bartowski — because he was a better man for knowing Bartowski. Just as Walker was a better spy, a better woman for knowing Bartowski. And she would give it all up rather than trust Chuck about the mole. Shaw and the Red Test had done a number on her. _Hell, she didn't even see Bartowski pull the trigger. _

Casey walked back into the central chamber of Castle. Grimes was standing where Casey left him, humming.

"What's that song, don't know it?" Casey asked.

Grimes looked embarrassed. "It's called _Particle Man. _Our chat about The Bumble made me remember it."

"Well, stop it. Got some tricky computer work to do." Casey went to a terminal and began to work.

"How can you use the computers? Didn't they kick you out?"

Casey shot Grimes a Death Star-blast of a look. "Not as incompetent as they think. Never said I couldn't use one. I'm not Bartowski, but I know my way around this computing system. I can get in. I made sure."

And so he could. It took a minute, but Casey had hidden a backdoor long ago, back when the system first went up. _You can't be too paranoid. _

He got in and found the program for Team B's phones. Casey was carrying his personal phone, and he had given Grimes a burner. He shut off Shaw's phone, Walker's and Bartowski's. Then he erased evidence of that and of his entering Castle, powering up the system. The erasures might not have been perfect, but they would do for now. He was already kicked out, as Grimes said, so what did it matter? No one would pursue criminal charges since that would require admitting the existence of Castle.

_And the Buy More ain't gonna fire me, not when I'm moving BeastMasters like the Heat Miser. _He looked up for a minute, staring into the distance, wondering about wearing a flame-orange wig to help boost sales even more.

Refocused, Casey turned to Grimes. "Get up the stairs and open the door."

Grimes did. Casey hit _enter_ one final time and the lights went out, but he could see by the light of the open door. He took the stairs three at a time, went past Grimes. "Shut the door. We're just getting started."

They locked the Buy More and got back in the Crown Vic. "Settle back," Casey told Grimes as he steered the Crown Vic toward I-15N, "we've got a drive ahead of us." Grimes nodded, clicked his seatbelt and crossed his arms, sinking down into the seat.

"So, Grimes, let me ask you a question about Bartowski, you and Bartowski."

Morgan did not look at him but he nodded.

As Casey asked, he checked his watch. 4:55 am. _Doing fine. _

* * *

Casey was proud of Vic — his car.

They'd gotten to their destination and back in record time. Unfortunately, errands at the destination had been trickier, time-consuming. Still, he and Grimes were rolling back into Burbank before 9 am. 8:57 am, to be exact. Things were set. Now the hard part started.

Convincing Walker.

Convincing Bartowski.

Stalling Shaw.

Nothing to do but get to it. _Time's a-wastin'_.

They stopped the car in the parking lot beneath Walker's building, parking well away from her Porsche. Casey grabbed the black duffle from the back seat and pulled out a red tackle box, meant for fishing gear but which contained his private stash of spyware odds and ends. He selected a tracer and two bugs and handed the first to Grimes.

"Put this beneath Walker's bumper."

Grimes's eyes became the size of serving plates.

"No, her _Porsche's_ bumper." Grimes whistled out a relieved breath.

Casey handed him the second two. "Put one of these in her car. Don't get fancy, just shove it under the driver's seat."

"But how?"

Casey shut the box and rooted around in the duffle. He came out with a black device. It had one red button on it. Idiot-proof.

"Just aim this at Walker's car. Stand right beside it. It will override the electronic lock." He grabbed Grimes's arm, careful not to touch his hand. "And do it again when you shut the door, so it's locked when she comes out. With any luck, she'll be too distracted to pay attention to anything but going."

Casey took a deep breath before continuing. _Can't believe I'm doing this. _He handed Grimes Vic's keys. "Go back to your place and wake Bartowski. Tell him what I told you. Make sure you get the second bug into Bartowski's clothes, shirt pocket, if possible. Be creative. I'm...counting on you, Grimes."

Grimes looked at the three small gadgets. "It's like I'm a spy too."

Casey shrugged. "It's like an initiation...a trial by fire. Get it right, Grimes."

Grimes saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Casey inhaled, rolled his eyes. This could all go so wrong. "Okay. Go." He checked his tracker on Shaw's car. It was still at Shaw's place.

Grimes got out and, a moment later, Casey did too. Grimes headed for Walker's car. Casey headed for the elevator.

The loose part of his plan was that he could not be sure of the whereabouts of the principals. He pushed the elevator button and the doors opened. He got on.

Walker had made some kind of commitment to Shaw in DC. Casey did not know if it was personal or professional or both. If it was personal, Walker might be with Shaw, at his apartment. That her car was here was a good sign, but it was possible that she had left it and ridden with Shaw. Casey did not know.

He hoped, for a lot of reasons, she was here, in her apartment, and not there. If she was there, it would complicate the plan. Maybe too much. Maybe doom it.

The elevator stopped and he walked to Walker's door. He heard music inside. _Good. _He sighed in relief. He listened for a second. He could hear the music clearly. Piano music. Casey was not a radio listener, but he knew the song.

Adele, _Someone Like You. _

He stood and listened a moment longer. He remembered Bartowski giving Walker the CD in Castle a few weeks ago. Walker had started to return it, but she didn't. She kept it. Now she was listening to it.

_That for me, it isn't over. _Adele's voice.

He felt his heart quiver. Walker was not only home, but she was also...mourning. Just like her to do it alone, not to let Bartowski or anyone — Shaw — know how much she was hurting.

_A shitload of regrets. I get it, Walker. _

Casey got out his phone and took a quick photograph of Walker's door.

He knocked. He heard the music die. A moment later, Walker opened the door. She was dressed, looking like herself, except for the red-eye liner. Her face was otherwise a mask. Casey's was too — by the time Walker focused on him. She blinked, trying to make sure her eyes did not betray her, but betrayed herself in doing so.

"Walker..." Casey let a note of urgency sneak into her name.

She noticed. "Casey. What are you doing here?"

"Need to talk to you," Casey answered, pushing past her, giving her no time to answer. She stood aside to let him in.

"What is it?"

"I need to talk to you about Bartowski."

"He and I...Ch—...We've...He and I have said...all we have to say to each other. If you're here to plead his case…"

"Not exactly," Casey said as he turned to face her, hoping to manage the next few minutes deftly. "The kid's in trouble, Walker. And, just so you know, you are wrong about him."

She frowned, pain behind it even as she tried to hide it. Casey reached into the waistband of his pants. He took the gun out, still wrapped in plastic. Walker's eyes focused on the napkin. She recognized it. Casey knew she would. He held the plastic bag and its contents out to her.

"Look inside."

She turned greenish, repelled. "Don't want to...touch that, Casey." Walker's tone started angry, pleading. It ended repentant.

"C'mon, Walker. You recognize that napkin, don't you?"

She nodded once. She reached into the bag and pulled the gun out, still wrapped in the napkin. "How'd you get this?"

Casey cleared his throat. He needed to be convincing. "The kid told me about it...The Red Test. He didn't kill the mole, Sarah. The gun proves it. He shoved it in a drawer of the Castle Armory. When he told me he had, I saw that the kid didn't think it through...I don't know what happened, but he did not shoot that guy, Perry?..." Walker nodded at the name. "The gun has not been fired, Sarah."

She jerked her eyes from the gun to Casey. "What?" Casey had never seen so much self-reproach interpenetrated by so much hope.

"The clip. It's full. I was careful not to touch the gun. You haven't. You can have it tested. Someone else shot the mole. It wasn't the kid." Casey needed to shake, rattle her before he put her into motion. He needed to be sure she went alone, without Shaw and Casey needed her to be...receptive...when she found Bartowski.

Sarah held the gun by the napkin, ejecting the clip. It took a minute, the operation made clumsy by the napkin. She looked at the clip. It was full, as Casey knew it would be. She stared at it.

She wobbled.

Casey stepped to her, to steady her, but she put her hand on his arm, using him to stay upright but keeping him at a distance. "What's this _mean_, Casey? How?"

"Gotta talk to the kid, to Chuck, Sarah. I believe him." Casey's use of their first names registered on her and she gave him a look.

"What's happened to Chuck?"

Casey breathed easier. The way she said Bartowski's name, that was the way she'd been saying it until...well, until recently. She went on. "You mentioned trouble?"

"Yeah, the kid showed up on my doorstep this morning while it was still dark out. He got a call. I suspect it was from a Ring agent. The person — a man — told him to meet him alone, or else _you_ would...not live to see Christmas."

"_Me_? Why would he listen? I can take care of myself."

Casey shook his head. "He knows that, but when has that ever kept him in the car, ever stopped him when he thought you were in danger? _Ever_?"

Sarah slumped. "Never. But why aren't you with him?"

"One, I'm not an agent anymore. Two, he insisted I find you, make sure you are okay; he didn't trust anyone else."

Her eyes narrowed. "But you broke into Castle..."

Casey shrugged. "Yeah, because I realized that the kid's story had a problem. But I did that _before_ he got the call and talked to me."

"Why come to you? Why not call me?"

"Your phone's not working."

Walker rushed across the room to her bedside, her purse.

She looked at her phone. Pushed buttons. It was blank, dead, bricked. Casey exhaled silently. He'd banked on Walker not using her phone that morning. She was a late riser. Not today, so much, but she'd had other things on her mind. _Adele. _

She was a mess, like the kid. Casey knew his plan did not need to be foolproof. It needed to be fool-in-love-proof.

"You call him, Casey." Walker's voice was wavering, her look growing panicky.

Casey dialed and handed Walker the phone.

She held it to her ear. Casey could see she was holding her breath. After a moment, she handed Casey the phone. "Nothing. Not even his voicemail."

"Huh. Maybe his phone...you know, like yours..."

Panic grew on Walker's face, past the point of being masked at all.

"Why would he believe them, Casey?"

Casey called up the photograph of her door. "Bartowski's phone was working this morning when he came to my place. He forwarded me this photo. Wanted me to look into it. Don't think it will tell us anything..."

She looked at the phone in Casey's hand, the displayed photo. He could see her wobbling internally now. "The man sent this to Chuck?" The relevant question finally formed in Sarah's eyes, then on her lips. "They have Chuck's _number_? Our phones...Casey, how could you let him go?!"

Casey shrugged. "I couldn't stop him — and he wouldn't wait. And he's an agent now. He took his sister's car." Casey had to hope Walker would believe that without contacting Ellie. Luckily for the plan, Walker's estrangement from Chuck was also an estrangement from his sister. "I was stuck, Sarah. You know what he's like where you are concerned…And he's got all this training, the Intersect..."

For a moment, Walker seemed poised in indecision, lost, all of it had hit her so fast, as Casey planned for it to do. And then, she decided. "Yes, but Chuck's not a spy." _Bingo, Walker. Never was, never will be. You need to understand that. You haven't changed him, lured him to the dark side. _"Can you get to Shaw, Beckman, tell them where I've gone? We may need back-up. Chuck…Chuck..."

She grabbed her bag and reached into it, pulled out her gun, checked it and put it back. She ran her hand down her leg, checking her knives. "Where did they tell him to meet them?"

Casey smiled internally but kept his face grave. He told her where Chuck had gone. When the meet was to take place. Open panic claimed her whole face.

"No?!"

"Yes, it's a bad sign, I know. He hasn't been gone long..."

Walker turned and almost ran to the door. _Hook, line, and sinker. _

As she pulled it open, she looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for showing me the gun, Casey. Don't be long. Nothing can happen to him. Lock up for me. — We will talk when I get back."

Casey nodded. "Just find Chuck, Sarah, come back with Chuck."

The door closed. Casey's shoulders loosened.

Casey reached in his other pocket and took out his tracking device. He put in the code for the tracker on Walker's car. He stood for a tense couple of minutes, watching the blip. It was stationary.

_If Grimes screwed that up, damn reject from the Island of Misfit Toys, I'll…_

The blip moved. Walker was underway. Casey blew out a breath and sat down, resting the tracker on his leg. He sat back, relaxed a little. His hangover was lifting. Or maybe that was his heart.

Morgan would call when he got back from his errand with Chuck. The blip kept moving. It headed north. He put in the number for the bug in her car. At first, there was just a buzz, then he heard Sarah crying, heard her whisper Chuck's name. He frowned at himself.

One piece of the puzzle in play. Casey looked around the green apartment. He put the tracking device back in his pocket, stood and walked to the CD player. The Adele CD was open on top of it. Casey picked it up. _21\. _Odd name for a record. He opened the jewel case and a small piece of notebook paper fell out, drifted like a snowflake to the floor. Casey bent and picked it up. The note was in Bartowski's handwriting.

_For Sarah, sorry about everything.  
_— _Always, Chuck_

Bartowski had put a small check by _Someone Like You. _Casey felt his eyes grow moist.

Returning the paper inside, he closed the case. He hated fooling Walker like this, but it was an attempt to deceive her into the truth, to fool her into her heart's desire. If it didn't work...Well, Casey would face the music, though the thought of facing Walker's peculiar music made him a smidgen fearful. _Oh, well..._

Next, the Bumble. Shaw.

He had a few minutes before Morgan would arrive, assuming the bearded Hermey was on schedule. If it all worked, Bartowski would be behind Sarah by only by a few minutes. Casey brushed the front of his CPO jacket. It was about all he had left of his dad.

Casey took out his phone and dialed his mom.

_Maybe this time of year is not...so bad_.

"Mom? Hey! It's Johnny-Boy. Merry Christmas!"

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Tune in next time (a week or so) for Chapter Two, "The Abominable Snowmonster of the North". Really enjoying this Casey. Hope you are too.


	3. Two: The Bumble

A/N: N.B. 'Bumble' is a corruption of 'Abominable' as in "The Abominable Snowmonster of the North."

Let's get to it.

* * *

**A Year Without Christmas?**

Chapter Two: The Abominable Snowmonster of the North

* * *

Casey had a good talk with his mom. Brief but good.

He knew the holiday was difficult for her, and for lots of reasons, but among them was that Casey almost never could make it home, often never able to call or even send a card. He hadn't seen her face-to-face in almost five years.

She had gotten his card and loved it. It delighted her he called. He promised he would call her again tomorrow, on Christmas day, for a long and proper talk, and that he would try to see her as soon as he could.

_Sorry, Mom. This job. My choices. All the lies that are my life. A tapestry of untruth._

_Regrets. _

_The world looks different to me now than it did back then, back when I made my choices. _

He thought of a small book his dad had airmailed to him. It had come from Greece, under exotic stamps. The book was palm-sized, light blue, oddly wire-bound inside the cover. _Springs of Greek Wisdom. _Casey had memorized all the quotations in the book, one to a page on forty parchment pages. He had wanted to talk about them with his dad. That never happened.

_If you have a wounded heart, touch it as little as you would an injured eye.  
_— _Pythagoras_

That had been Casey's motto.

Until last night.

The elevator sank slowly to the parking garage, and the doors opened.

Casey got off the elevator. The Vic was there, already parked but running. Casey saw Morgan; Morgan saw Casey and waved eagerly, a smile on his face. He gave Casey a big thumbs-up. _Moron, you already told me on the phone. _Casey smiled back though, the briefest of smiles, but genuine.

Morgan left the car running and got out, circling the front of the car as Casey circled the rear. They both got in.

"Shit," Casey grunted as his knees hit the dashboard, his chest the steering wheel. He reached down and pressed the button, scooting the seat back.

"Sorry," Morgan offered. "Forgot I had to move it way forward."

Shaking his head, Casey started driving, following _Exit _signs out of the parking garage. He glanced at Morgan as he stopped the car before entering traffic. "So, yeah?"

Morgan's lit-from-within grin was pure Jack-o'-lantern.

"Yeah! Told him that Sarah had talked to you about a Ring phone call. Someone saying he knew all about Chuck. Demanding a meeting. With photos and stuff. Like you said. Said she couldn't reach Shaw. She couldn't reach Chuck, since his phone wasn't working. And, as you predicted, Chuck panicked. He tried Shaw but couldn't get him, didn't know where he was. He grabbed his gun and badge and he ran out the door…"

Casey nodded firmly and pulled the Vic into traffic. "And?"

"And I gave him a bro-hug before he left, slipped the bug in his pocket protector. He had been getting ready for work."

"Took the Herder?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Figured. Good, tracker's on it already. But we know where he's going. This is one situation in which Bartowski _is_ predictable — a Walker situation. They're both homing pigeons."

"He loves that woman something fierce," Morgan declared. "The look in his eyes when he thought she was in danger... Swear to God, I believe he'd use that gun for her…"

Casey nodded once more in agreement.

Morgan sat back, relaxed, grinned again, but this time in anticipation. "Okay, so now we have Clarice and Rudolph on a collision course, so what about the Bumble?"

"Heading to his place now. Making this part up as I go."

They drove on in near silence. Near silence. Morgan was humming to himself, humming _In the Bleak Mid-Winter_, but he gave the carol a little bounce as he hummed it. Casey let himself listen, partly out of surprise that Morgan knew it — partly because it dredged up a choke of memories.

Casey had belonged to a boys' choir. _In the Bleak Mid-Winter_ had been a favorite of his to sing.

The choir prepared it for a Christmas concert. Casey's dad, John, was to be home that year. Casey's mom had gotten a letter promising so. The plan was for him to arrive in time to attend the choir concert. He hadn't. But Casey kept hoping. He stood on the choral risers with the other boys, searching the growing crowd of parents and grandparents, visitors. He saw his mother sitting in the rear.

_Alone_.

In the bleak midwinter. _Gawddamnit. _ — The boy and the man swore as one.

Casey sang his heart out that night, singing to his lonely mother, to himself, to his father afloat on distant waters, singing to the stars, the Star, as tears ran down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away. He sang and wept, wept and sang.

Christmas.

That was the last time Casey had hoped for a Christmas gift. For anything from Christmas. From then on, he met Christmas hopeless.

He wove in and out of traffic as Morgan switched carols. Casey continued to listen. After a moment, Morgan made a slow turn toward Casey. "Casey, what's a Harold Angel? Is that a famous angel, like...uh...Michael?"

"Christ, no, numb-nuts. It's _Herald Angels. _H-e-r-a-l-d. _Herald._"

Morgan ruminated on that. "So, what's a _herald_?"

"How can you have all that nerd code larded in your head, Tolkien and shit, Grimes, and not know _English_? A herald is a forerunner...a precursor...a harbinger."

Morgan scrunched up his face. "It helps when you define a word with words I know…"

"Jesus! It's someone who arrives ahead of a big event and tells people it's coming!"

Morgan seemed enlightened — and cowed. "Oh."

He stewed for a minute. "Oh! Like the angels that showed up and told the shepherds, right…"

"Right. Shit. Have you really been hearing _Harold_ all this time?"

Morgan shrugged, looked away. Casey chuckled and shook his head, not unkindly.

They drove on in complete silence for a moment or two. But then Morgan turned to Casey again. "Do you think it'll work, Casey? Chuck and Sarah?"

Casey breathed out slowly through his nose. "Don't know. But we're giving them the chance the two idiots weren't going to give themselves."

"Yeah, yeah, but why are we worried about the Bumble? He doesn't know where they are."

"True, but he could raise a ruckus when he finds them both missing, raise it for professional and...personal reasons. We need him ignorant. More ignorant. Besides, I didn't have a chance to sweep Sarah's car — he might have a tracker on it too. Wouldn't shock me. Possessive type. And Chuck's Herder will show up. The damn thing is a tracker. No way of preventing that in the time I had."

Casey slowed the car and pulled into a spot in a line of cars near Shaw's apartment complex. _Complex, Ha! — swear to God, there's something wrong with that guy. _

Shutting off the engine, Casey looked around, tense, until he saw Shaw's car.

Looking at it, Casey felt a little ashamed of himself. A little.

All this time, Casey had known that Bartowski was sure that he was not Walker's type, that her type was Larkin, ...or Barker, ...or Shaw. And Casey had tormented the poor guy about it. But the torment had not been all malicious.

Casey kept hoping Bartowski would step up, would rise to his soul's pride, recognize that he was _better _than those jokers, whether Walker saw it or not. _Nobler_. But Walker saw it. Casey had also half-hoped his torment would drive Walker to tell Bartowski that, since she witnessed it.

Maybe she had. Still, it would always be hard for the kid to believe it.

Everything Walker told him was served with a stiff chaser of bitters, of doubt; everything she told him might be part of handling him. And Walker used that chaser when it was convenient, hid in it or behind it, about half the time. Casey sympathized with them both, even as they pissed him off. _Royally_. _Casino Royally. _

Casey was a man of decision. Watching the two of them wander in indecision for so long, squandering so much life, so much emotional energy…

_Fa-la-ladyfeelings._

The Bumble, Shaw, lumbered from his cave...apartment. He was on the phone. Closing his door, he stood for a moment, talking, looking around. _Situational awareness. He's a good spy, gawddamnit. _Morgan felt Casey react, and he was now watching Shaw too.

Shaw's face was hard to read — but not impossible. It showed signs of surprise, then of...deep hunger. _Gnawing need_. Only then did the scene fully register on Casey.

A call. _A phone_. _Shaw's phone_ was dead. Casey popped open the glove compartment suddenly, making Morgan jump. Casey grabbed a pair of binoculars, jammed them against his eyes.

Focusing them quickly, expertly, Casey examined the phone in Shaw's hand, able to make out detail he missed with his naked eyes. It was a Ring phone, maybe the Ring phone that had been in Castle. _Who the hell is he talking to? _

The need on Shaw's face became deep and raw. _Bloody. _ And then Casey understood. Shaw was _obsessed_ with the Ring. Not in the ordinary, careless sense of the term, but in the deep, psychologically disturbed sense. Unhinged. Obsessed.

Captain Ahab/Moby-Dick obsessed: _Moby-Dick. _

Annie Wilkes/Paul Sheldon obsessed: _Misery. _

What Casey took for single-minded, impersonal professionalism was not that at all. Casey mistook it. That was Shaw's _cover_. He was being impelled by something else, something warped, something warping — a consuming, personal obsession. _Shit, shit, shit._

No wonder he was stiff as...particleboard. His stop-action emotions. All that _needy hate_ churning inside, lava, cardio-thermal pressure...

This was a turn Casey hadn't foreseen.

Shaw finished the call, looked around again sneakily, and slid the phone in his jacket pocket. He pulled his keys out of the other pocket. He checked his watch then started toward his car, his steps quick and determined. When he got to his car, he looked down at his left hand. His wedding ring. The need returned to his face, raw again. Bloody. For a moment, Shaw's spy-mask vanished. His gaze left the present, drifted. Then he looked at his ring again, using his left thumb to turn rotate it on his finger. Casey shuddered. _Creepy. _Shaw climbed into the car and started away.

"You'll lose him!" Morgan exclaimed, clapping his hands on the dash.

"_Tracker_, Hermey, calm down. Know how to hunt the Bumble."

Casey let a minute or two pass, then he pulled out. He could see Shaw's car in the distance. Tailing was now automatic for Casey. He delegated the task to his skill and began to think.

This was about Shaw's wife. The wedding ring was not an opaque symbol, not speechless. It showed; it spoke.

Shaw had been hunting the Ring, dedicated himself to it, because he believed they, or someone among them, _had killed his wife_. Casey knew from a bit of snooping when Shaw first arrived that Shaw had been married, knew too that his wife was deceased.

But Casey had found little about her death and had not searched hard. Searching seemed morbidly curious. There was one brief story in a DC paper that noted that she had died in Paris, shot on the street by a mugger.

But if Shaw blamed the Ring for it, for his wife's death, then the mugger story was likely _not_ a true story. Casey had done no more grave-digging, and he regretted it now.

He kept thinking, turning it all over. Names and faces. Questions.

Walker. Shaw's wife. — What did Walker know about Shaw, really? She knew he had been married. Did she understand Shaw's vendetta, his obsession?

Walker. Shaw's wife. _Evelyn. _That was his wife's name. Walker and Evelyn. The conjunction nagged at Casey's mind.

Evelyn. Killed by the Ring. Shaw. Walker. — Why would the Ring kill Evelyn Shaw? Possibly, she was collateral damage. Possibly. But — more likely — she was dead for a _reason_.

_Shit. Evelyn Shaw had been in the game_.

She had been a _spy_. Casey had no definitive proof, but his instinct was sure. — Did Walker know? Did she understand that she was..._a stand-in_? Evelyn's understudy? Understudy for a corpse. Walker as the loot in a spiritual grave-robbery.

Shaw's exhumation project.

Shaw's wife, a _dead_ spy. Walker, a live spy. _Evelyn, reanimated_.

No wonder Shaw gave off a creepy vibe, death, _death and...taxidermy_! The rich Englishman. Shaw was hugging death to him, embracing the dead, putting Walker in a corpse's place. Not stuffed, exactly, but not wanted for herself, for the living woman she was…

Casey shook his head. That was too bizarre, and he had a car to tail.

Shaw. The Bumble. He thought of the Bumble's everlasting toothache. Shaw's everlasting heartache. A tooth could be extracted, — but a heart?

Shaw was not in a hurry; still, he was not dawdling. A man on a schedule. He had looked at his watch. A man with an appointment to keep. With the person on the phone.

Casey glanced to the passenger seat. Morgan was sitting forward, his eyes glued to Shaw's car, caught up in it all if not understanding. It would have been good to have Walker along. _Best partner I ever had. _ Morgan would have to do.

He'd do.

Casey was unsure what was going to happen. Stalling Shaw had been one thing, tricky but do-able. Casey had done similar things on many missions. He trusted himself to pull it off on the fly. But this had...metastasized into something else, or it looked like it had.

"Listen, Grimes. When we get...wherever Shaw is going, I need you to stay in the car, in the Vic. Do you hear me?"

Morgan looked hurt, disappointed. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Good. Keep your phone on you. You are on stand-by. If you get a text from me, do exactly what I ask, exactly as I ask you to do it."

Morgan seemed to be catching up. "What's going on, Casey? How come Shaw's phone works? Won't that screw things up?"

"Not Shaw's phone. It belongs to the _Lost Boys _who held you and Chuck in Castle."

"The Ring?"

Casey nodded, allowing his genuine concern to show.

"Oh, okay, wow. Wow. So, is Shaw doing some sorta Lone Ranger thing, trying to take down the Ring on his own? Wouldn't that be his kind of grandstand play?"

"For a Harold, you ain't stupid, Grimes."

It took a second for Morgan to do the word-math. "Gee, thanks. Smack on one end, pat on the other."

Casey smiled a little grimly. "Just good parenting."

"Learn that from your dad?"

Casey knew Morgan was just talking, joking, but the remark cut to the quick.

The old man seemed to be on Casey's mind and wouldn't get off. Probably the jacket.

Jonathan Quigley Coburn. Casey's dad had named Casey _Alexander_, after Alexander the Great, general of Greek antiquity, but Casey's mom just called him _Johnny-Boy_, and the nickname stuck. Casey had chosen the apparently forgettable first name of _John_ when taking on an alias as a way of remembering his dad.

His dad's ship sank not long after Christmas the year of the boys' choir concert. Another reason not to like this time of the year.

The sinking season. Death at sea. Saltwater. Tears.

Casey did not think about that tragedy often, worked hard to keep it from his mind. He and Walker had intuited each other's desire to steer clear of the holidays, sentiment — until Bartowski drove them into a head-on collision with heartwarming.

Casey returned his attention to Morgan.

"No, he wasn't around enough for me to learn much from him, except a sense of duty."

Morgan's eyes opened wide with shock at a personal detail from Casey. Casey shook his head internally. _Who do I know? Who knows me? — Nobody. _Casey expected Morgan to push for more, but he sat back.

"My dad wasn't around either," Morgan said no more, but it touched Casey. He grunted softly.

Shaw pulled his car into the parking lot of an established LA eatery, famous for breakfast in particular, _Comfort Food. _

Casey knew it. He had eaten there once or twice. Good pancakes served 24/7. It was on the bottom floor of a three-story building, the top two floors occupied by business offices, although Casey had never paid any attention to their names.

Casey did not enter _Comfort Food's _parking lot. He pulled into the lot across from it.

The holiday had decreased the number of people out and Casey found a spot that allowed him to aim the Vic toward the front door of _Comfort Food_, but at a distance that made it unlikely anyone would notice the car.

As Casey shut off the car, he thought about one of the few happy memories he had of his dad. Casey had been ten, maybe. They were washing his dad's Crown Vic together. The washing ended in a laughing, gleeful water fight. Casey could almost smell the warm fall day, the sudsy water — but the odor remained just out of reach, tantalizing, not something he could remember, not something he could forget.

Shaw bumbled his way into Comfort Food, shoulders up, eyes staring. This was not to be a friendly meeting.

"Stay in the car," Casey spoke the words to Morgan as he got out.

Casey jogged through an opening in traffic and approached the restaurant. He slowed as he got to the door. He looked inside and did not see Shaw near the door. He went in, stopping in the small vestibule. Hanging on a coat rack near the door was an old knit cap, red. Casey grabbed it and pulled it low on his head. He turned up the collar of his CPO jacket.

He ducked his head and walked out into the large dining.

Shaw was greeting another man diagonally across the dining room from where Casey stood.

The meeting was unfriendly. They sat down in a corner booth, well away from anyone else. Casey quickly walked to the corner booth on the other side of the restaurant. He slipped in it and sat down, moving to a spot Shaw would have to rotate to see, although it left Casey in view of the other man.

The other man was large, African-American. He wore a suit but no tie and carried a briefcase.

A waitress came by Casey's table. Another arrived at Shaw's table at the same time.

"Happy Holidays! What'll ya have? Would you like our Santa's Sleigh Special? Eight pancakes stacked high with a bright red cherry on top. One for each of the reindeer, and the cherry, you know, for Rudolph."

The waitress, a young woman, smiled. She had brown hair. Her name tag said _Alex_.

Casey blinked at the coincidence. "Huh, that sounds good," Casey chuckled, "but I can't remember the names of the other reindeer. Can you?"

She gave him a funny look. "Um…" She shot him a smirk that seemed familiar for a moment, then she put her hand on her lower jaw and moved it side to side, a caricature of thought, and also...familiar somehow. "Let's see, I think they were...Pride, Envy, Anger, Sloth, Gluttony, Greed and Lust."

Casey shook with quiet laughter. "I think that's only seven — and isn't that the list of the Seven Deadly Sins?"

She gave him a wink but stuck with her story. "I think the eighth is Vainglory, but I was never sure how he differed from Pride."

"I'm not sure either," Casey said, glancing over Alex's shoulder as the other waitress left the booth where Shaw and the man were sitting. "Wait, I thought the eighth was the cherry, Rudolph."

The young woman laughed. "Could be. Maybe that's the vice of the bright red nose. And I admit, I was never big on naming my food. I like to eat anonymity."

Casey laughed again, keeping the other booth in sight. He started to tell her he liked her name, but worried that would come off wrong. _Old guy, young gal. _"So, yeah, I'll have the special. And coffee. Oh," Casey stopped her, "I was in a week ago and left a pair of glasses here. Dark rims. They're for reading. I assume you have a Lost and Found."

She nodded. "Sure. I'll check." Casey thanked her.

He slid back into the booth further, keeping the cap low and his collar high. Shaw and the man were in intense conversation, herky-jerky gesticulating. The man was making some offer to Shaw; Shaw was...negotiating. Casey wished he could read lips, but he'd been no good at that. Still, their behavior was easy enough to understand. Their waitress brought them coffee.

A moment later, Casey's waitress, Alex, came back to his table. She had about five pairs of glasses in her hands. "I brought them all, all the ones that were dark-framed."

Casey had taken a chance. Almost every restaurant in America had eyeglasses in a box somewhere, glasses left behind by customers and rarely reclaimed. She extended her hands in offer. Casey looked at them, trying to find a large pair with a heavy frame. He saw a pair, black.

"Hey, there they are." He took them up and put them on. Luckily, they more or less fit. Alex went out-of-focus through the lenses.

Casey gave her a smile, and she grinned. "Lucky. Be back in a minute with your coffee."

As she walked away, Casey put the glasses in his lap beneath the table. He popped out the corrective lenses, then put the glasses back on, the lenses gone. He put the lenses in the breast pocket of his coat. He put the collar of his jacket down a bit and checked on Shaw. Casey knew his thin disguise would not fool a direct look, but the whole point was to keep the men, Shaw especially, from looking directly.

The conversation between the men had intensified. Shaw's negotiations were being refused. The man held up his hands at Shaw. He picked up his briefcase from the floor seat beside him and opened it, producing a laptop computer. He put it on the table.

He reached back into the briefcase and took out a thumb drive.

The man held it up, saying something to Shaw, enticing him with the thumb drive, waving it like a dog treat. Shaw's face darkened. At first, he shook his head. The man started to put the thumb drive back, and then Shaw stopped him. There was open desperation in Shaw now. He was staring at the thumb drive as he had stared at his wedding ring.

The man looked at Shaw, waving the thumb drive again, like a talisman. The two men were so intent on their conversation that neither was paying attention to anything else. Whatever was going on, it was personal on both sides now, particularly Shaw's.

It must have something to do with his wife, his wife's death. — But what? Why? What would the Ring stand to gain by giving information about Evelyn's death to Shaw?

Unless they did not do it. Unless they knew who did.

Of course, they could be lying, offering Shaw misinformation in the form of information.

Casey saw Shaw mouth a word, and it was one Casey could read as it came off Shaw's lips. _Evelyn. _The other man nodded. Shaw lunged up over the table but the man pulled the thumb drive back. He asked Shaw a question, staring.

Shaw sank back down and nodded. He had agreed to...something. The man held the thumb drive but took out his phone, a Ring phone, and made a call. As he did, he glanced toward the door.

Casey texted Morgan. **Watch the door. Remember the car each patron comes in.**

Shaw was fidgeting, staring at the man's hand, the one with the thumb drive.

Another man entered the restaurant, white, medium-build, balding. The man at the booth had turned to look, expecting him. They made eye contact. It was obvious the new man was in charge. The look from the man at the booth was immediately deferential.

Casey texted Morgan. **The man who just came in. Get a tracker from my bag. Like the one you put on Walker's car. Put it on his, under the rear bumper.**

Morgan responded. **Aye, Aye, Captain.**

Casey: **Get back in the car as soon as it's done. Keep your head down. **

The new man sat down in the spot the other man had made by sliding further into the booth.

Shaw was now staring at the new man.

"Here ya go, Mister. The Special!"

Casey's waitress returned, carrying what looked like a plated Leaning Tower of Pisa. Somehow, the Tower remained on the plate. Alex set it down carefully. She looked at the table. "Damn, I forgot your coffee…Got focused on the glasses, no pun intended..."

"...John," Casey responded, "My name is John, Alex. Say, don't turn around, but that booth behind you...with the three men, the laptop. Do you think you could warm up their coffee, and tell me what they are talking about?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "Are you some sort of _detective_?"

"Yeah, some sort."

"Thought so. Those are officially the clearest lenses I have ever seen in a pair of readers. Absolutely no glare." She smirked at him and he smirked back. She gave him a funny look, cocked her head to the side in thought. Then she shook her head, not in refusal but to aid a change in focus. "Okay, I'm game. Back with your coffee in a minute, after a stop at Mildred's table..."

She walked away. Shaw was nodding at the new man. The new man took the thumb drive from the other man and put it in the computer. He typed for a minute, then turned the laptop so that the screen faced Shaw.

Shaw watched in barely restrained horror.

As Shaw watched, Casey saw Alex start toward the booth, coming to it from an angle so that only Shaw could see her. But he was not looking. She crept nearer and stopped, a coffeepot in one hand, a coffee cup in the other. She was listening. Shaw whitened. He said _Evelyn _again. Then he sat bolt upright. He said something else, but he put his hand to his mouth as he did, recoiling.

Alex chose that moment to step to the table, as if on a normal 'warm-up' round. The men all jumped, startled. She gave them a natural smile and started pouring coffee without asking. Her movements were perfunctory, easy. _Very good, Alex. _

She left and headed to other tables before she headed toward Casey. The new man watched her for a minute but then shifted back to Shaw, expectant, victorious. He seemed to have no more interest in Alex.

Alex stopped at two more before approaching Casey's booth. She was careful to position herself between him and the men in the other booth. "There was some video on the computer screen. The dark-haired man was staring at it. They paused it. Glimpsed a blond woman, maybe. I heard him say a name: 'Sarah'?"

Casey braced his hands on the table. _Evelyn. Sarah. What the…?_

Alex was studying him. "Is that bad?"

"Maybe. Do me a favor, please. Forget all about this. Don't go back to that booth and don't come back to this one."

Casey took his wallet out and put a fifty in her hand. "For the pancakes — and the service."

She smiled. "You didn't eat any. They must have forgotten to put Gluttony in."

Casey smiled back. "I'm sure it's good. And I'm watching Anger." He grabbed the cherry from the top and popped it in his mouth.

She giggled. "You're an _interesting_ sort of detective."

She put the fifty in her apron pocket and walked away. Something tickled the back of Casey's mind. She looked like someone..._Who_?

He had no time to think more. The two men gathered up the computer and got up from the booth, leaving Shaw seated. The balding man spoke to Shaw one last time and Shaw, his face stricken, nodded without looking up. The balding man threw Shaw the thumb drive. He caught it, then shifted it in his left hand. He seemed to be staring at it and at his wedding band — all at once. The two men left. Casey hoped Morgan had gotten the tracker and put it in place, gotten back in the car, but Casey had no time to check.

Shaw looked lost, wrathful. He put the thumb drive on the table. Casey could see Shaw twisting a napkin in his hands beneath the table, shredding it.

Casey took off the glasses and the cap, shoving them into his crowded pockets. He crossed the restaurant and slid into the booth opposite Shaw.

"Shaw."

Shaw's head snapped up. "Casey. Casey? What the hell are you doing here?" He grabbed the thumb drive, trying to make the motion casual but failing.

"Wondering the same about you."

"Just having a late breakfast."

"And entertaining friends. Coffee klatch?"

Shaw laughed, but the laugh became a sneer. "What's it to you?"

Casey shrugged casually. "Nothing. Just looked like you were playing…"

"Playing? Playing what?"

"_Ring toss_."

Shaw stiffened but tried to hide it. "Hilarious. Didn't know you were a comedian. Thought that was Bartowski's gig."

Casey gave Shaw a smug smile. "Thought Walker was Bartowski's girl."

Shaw's eyes narrowed. "Not anymore. _She's mine._" His tone made it clear he meant that as a final comment. But Casey could see, now that he was face-to-face with Shaw, that Shaw was close to some sort of break. The tone in which he declared Walker his was not the tone of a lover.

It was the tone of a hunter.

Casey felt a chill. He knew the tone. He'd used it. _Hell, I used it on Walker and Bartowski on that rooftop that night. I even mentioned pancakes. _

Shaw had heard himself. He let his eyes open again and tried to smile. "Losers, weepers…"

"Jesus, Shaw, you manipulate the kid and Walker, and then you feed me cliches? No wonder your wife _left _you."

Shaw's eyes became molten.

Casey got no joy from it, from rough-housing with Shaw's heartache, but the man had to be made to declare himself. He was a clear and present danger — to himself, to Walker, to anyone who got in his way.

Casey still wasn't sure what Shaw saw on the computer, but it involved Walker. It also seemed to involve Evelyn.

The math struck Casey like lightning. Evelyn's death. Walker. Shaw's reaction to the video. His tone. Walker. Evelyn. _Shit. _

Walker did it. She terminated Shaw's wife. The Ring had proof. The video, the thumb drive.

Shaw stared at Casey as if he could kill him by fatal vision. "Never mention my wife. _Ever_. A man like you…"

"Shit, Danny, _a man like me_? How the hell are we any _different_? Spy," Casey said, stabbing his finger at Shaw, "and spy," he finished, touching his own chest with the same stabbing finger. "No difference — well, except for that _selling your soul to the devil_ thing. I haven't done that."

Shaw wanted to say nothing but he couldn't keep from speaking. The words ate their way out of him like acid. "Yes, you have; you just don't know it. Too many _Oorahs, _Jarhead_._"

"Did your wife work for the devil too, sell her soul?"

Shaw bared his teeth. "She...was..._loyal_. She was _no_ double agent."

_Bingo. That's why Walker...holy fucking shit...Walker's _Red Test_._

"What about _you_, Danny? Are you loyal?"

Shaw's eyes glowed. "I'm...loyal...to the right things."

"Shit, don't play semantics with me, Danny. Not smart enough. You just had coffee with a Ring agent — and his boss." _Push him. Push him. Push him. _"Guessing they recruited you. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Is that how it works, Danny?"

Casey was working from intuition now, on subtle signs from Shaw. Shaw's right hand slipped beneath the table.

Casey saw it but did not react, did not let on. This was the crucial moment. _Declare yourself, Shaw. _

The moment came, the movement. Casey willed himself to remain still. Shaw's eyes emptied of all effort at deceit. They were full of hate, anguish. "Don't move, Casey, or you'll be singing soprano."

Casey shrugged, despite knowing Shaw was aiming his gun at Casey's gut. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Shaw looked puzzled for a second, then his gaze leveled again. _Tortured and crazy or not, he's dangerous._ "We're going to get up and go…" — Shaw looked around — "up the stairs."

_Clever. Christmas Eve. The upstairs offices will be empty, or nearly so. _

The door to the upstairs had a small window in it. Beside it was a green sign with the single climbing arrow that served as a symbol for stairs.

"There's no reason," Shaw continued, "for any innocent bystanders to get hurt. We can finish this talk upstairs."

Casey did not move to get up. "Really, Danny. What are you going to do, shoot me?"

Shaw shrugged. "Yes, if by that you mean _kill you._ I can't have you getting in the way."

"The way of what? Your constipated revenge? Are you really going to murder...Walker?"

"Murder? No, I don't see it that way. Execute her? Yes. She _has_ to die. She did it; she executed my wife."

And there it was. The declaration.

"Get up, Casey. Be the honorable marine one last time. You shouldn't have gotten involved in this. I don't know how or why you ended up here, but it doesn't matter. First you, then Walker."

"And then.._.you_?" Casey asked.

Shaw did not answer.

"What would Evelyn say, Shaw?" Casey softened his tone, but he stood as he did.

Shaw was right about innocents. Casey would not let any innocent get hurt or let their family receive a phone call on Christmas. He looked around.

Alex was at the counter in the distance, talking to Matilda. _Good. _

He led Shaw to the door. Shaw hid his gun in his jacket pocket.

When they were through the door, Casey sighed.

He thought about his mom. Thank God he called her earlier. He thought about Bartowski and Walker. They should have found each other by now; if not, then soon. He wished them well.

Casey was not giving up, but he was not going to go, if he went, unprepared. Almost chuckling to himself, he thought of Grimes. Hermey. _The Bumble turned out to be in worse shape than we knew, Hermey._

As he climbed the stairs, Casey asked his question again. "What would Evelyn say, Shaw?"

"She'd tell me to put the gun down, stop this madness."

"So, why don't you?"

"Because...she only exists in the fucking subjunctive, Casey. '_If she were here_…" She's now nothing but a part of my imagination, my desire. 'If she were here…' But she's _not_. She's dead. Walker executed her on a cold Paris street. Walker did it. So she will die too, take her place in the subjunctive. _Climb_, Casey."

"Thought you cared about her," Casey observed as he climbed the stairs. "About Walker."

Shaw took a moment to answer "I thought she might...help with...things, the pain, and she did for a while, but I think it was mainly the chase, winning her. Once I did, I...well, the pain just came back…"

"You never did, you know…"

"Never did _what_?"

"Win her. Don't doubt it seemed that way, that she made it seem that way, but do you really think the Red Test would make her fall out of love with Bartowski? She loves him, then _Bang!, _she doesn't? Even you can't be that far from understanding the human heart. You didn't win her. Bartowski didn't lose her. Not really. She lost herself."

Shaw growled. "Don't talk to me about the human heart. You have no goddamn clue about pain."

_That I feel sorry for you, Shaw, doesn't mean I don't judge you a shithead. Pain, pain I know. Got clued in a long time ago. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. _

They had climbed two flights of stairs. They trudged up one more, Shaw's gun now in his hand. Casey was looking for an opening, some way to turn the tables.

They went up one more flight. It ended with a door to the ceiling. It was standing ajar.

Casey pushed it open and blinked in the mid-morning sun. When Shaw emerged too, Casey stopped. Shaw walked up and put the gun barrel against Casey's back. "Walk to the edge, Casey, the rear of the building."

Slowly, deliberately, stalling now, Casey began to move in that direction. He saw nothing that would help him. There was a large AC unit on the building, but little else. Casey had his gun, but it was holstered; he was sure he could never get it out before Shaw killed him.

Before he got to the edge, he would try it. It was his only chance. He was a few steps from the edge when Shaw gave him a command. "Stop."

Casey took a breath, focusing himself, finding his calm center. _No luck. _

"Sorry it came to this, Casey. It's not personal."

"The hell it isn't, Shaw, this is all personal."

"Huh. Maybe. Now that you mention it, I guess so."

Casey braced himself, picturing his motions as he intended them to be.

"Duck, Bumble!"

Casey whirled. It was Morgan's voice. Morgan rushed from behind the A/C unit. Shaw spun. Morgan collided with Shaw before he could get his gun up.

Morgan bounced back from the collision. So did Shaw. Backward into Casey.

Casey grabbed him. Shaw twisted hard. But the twist cost him his grip on the thumb drive, until then still in his left hand. It landed on the rooftop.

Casey twisted back, the two men stumbling, wound around each other, toward the edge. Close. Closer. At it, Casey turned, Shaw's gun arm trapped beneath his arm. With his other arm, he elbowed Shaw's head with all the strength he could muster. Shaw stumbled back a step, then disappeared.

Then, there was a loud, dull…

..._thump_.

Casey turned and looked down. Morgan walked up beside him, gasping, stopping to scoop up the thumb drive. He looked down, making a face even before he did.

Shaw was on the pavement. One leg was bent in a distorted, unnatural direction. His gun was on the pavement two yards from him. He tried to crawl to it, but he cried out, grabbing at his shoulder. He sank onto the pavement, not moving, sobbing. "No, no, no…"

Casey looked up, turned his head to Morgan. He was relieved — for himself, for Walker, for Morgan. But he was sad too, a little, for Shaw. Still, he'd given Shaw a chance to stop. Shaw's obsession would not allow it.

Casey laughed darkly, shaking his head, and looked back down at Shaw, who was still spluttering immobile pained _No's_.

"What is it?" Morgan asked, hearing the laugh, seeing the head-shake.

"Guess it's not true."

"What?"

"That Bumbles bounce."

* * *

A/N: "God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…" Ahem. Cough.

— Our story took quite the plunge there, didn't it? But, never fear, this is a Christmas tale, but a Zettel Christmas tale, so life's "crazy plaid" (to borrow a phrase from a hero, Dorothy Parker) is on display...um..._literally_ on Casey's CPO Jacket..._literarily_ in the story.

The Parker phrase is in her wonderful poem, _The Veteran. _That poem's been on my mind, along with Rankin/Bass Christmas shows, Christmas carols, deadly sins, and dark obsessions. The poem captures something that is, for me, very much on Casey's heart in this story, a kind of emotional background. It's easy to find the poem online.

If you like Casey's POV, I will mention that Beckster1213 has a really good, short fic told from it. WvonB's stories dive into Casey's POV from time to time with lovely results.

Tune in next time for Chapter Three: "Re-united, Or a Tape-Delay". What is the fallout (sorry) of events at _Comfort Food? — _And what's happening with Chuck and Sarah?

Thanks to _David Carner _and _My Song Story_ for virtual-hosting this Christmas fic extravaganza. Our own little Hallmarky Chuckmas. Chucktide? Something like that.

Leave me a thought or comment, please? It's the season of giving...Don't be pre-ghost Scroogy!


	4. Three: Re-United or, A Tape-Delay

A/N: A couple of housekeeping matters. Skip this if you don't care about canon questions.

* * *

In the story description, I said this was _S3-ish_. I've obviously made some changes. Most are small, simplifying changes that leave intact the form of the season while tinkering with its content. E.g., yes, I know that Chuck fires a warning shot when chasing Perry; I knew it from the beginning. I left that out because it simplified things for me. Sarah would still have found _one-too-many bullets_ in Chuck's gun. That was all that mattered for the story. The form can survive changes of content.

I've exploited a tension about Casey and his identity. In the S2 Christmas episode, he apparently calls his mother, identifying himself as Johnny-Boy. But then in S3, we are told Alex Coburn was declared dead. My resolution of that tension occurs in the chapter. Obviously, I take the appearance of the S2 phone call at face-value.

The big content change is in how I am reimagining the end of the (awful) Tic Tac episode. I am imagining it to have happened more or less as _per _canon, but eliminating the reveal of Alex at the episode's end. All that will become clearer in the chapter as well.

* * *

On with our story!

* * *

**A Year Without Christmas?**

Three: Re-united; or, A Tape-Delay

* * *

Casey wheeled to Morgan. "What the hell are you doing up here? You're supposed to be in the car!"

Morgan did not answer. Instead, he nodded at Shaw. "We should get down there, see about him, make sure he can't get to that gun."

Casey glanced down. "Right. Gawddamnit!"

He started running for the stairs, Morgan in his wake. Casey was able to find a way out the rear without going back into _Comfort Food. _He emerged into the alley. Shaw was still chanting "No", but he sounded like he was slipping into shock. He had not gotten nearer to his gun.

Casey kicked the gun further away, then pulled a handkerchief from his rear pocket and picked the gun up. He handed it to, in the handkerchief, to Morgan, who had not been far behind. Morgan took it with a gulp.

Casey scanned the area. No one seemed to have seen the fall. He took out his phone and dialed Beckman's direct line. She was not going to be happy to hear from Casey, given her dismissal of him, and given what he had to tell her about Shaw.

Beckman answered the phone. Casey dispensed with preliminaries and told her that Shaw was hurt and that a clean-up team was needed. He gave her the address.

She took it and he heard her immediately engage another line. After a minute or so, she was back on his line.

"Casey, you're no longer authorized to use this number. You know that. _What the hell are you doing, and what the hell happened?!_"

Casey gave her a brief, unadorned but Morgan-less recap of what had happened in the restaurant and on the rooftop, ending with Shaw broken on the ground.

Casey glanced at Shaw as he finished the recap, took a picture with his phone and sent it to Beckman. Shaw had passed out, but Casey could see that he was breathing. Neither of the fractures, collarbone or lower leg, was compound, so Shaw was not losing any blood. Still, the pain must have been awful before he blacked out.

"Shaw is still alive?"

"Yes, ma'am. His sort's hard to end."

"So you just _happened_ to show up at the _same_ restaurant that Shaw chose for a meeting with Ring members?"

"Um...No, ma'am. I've thought Shaw smelled..._off_...for a while. Not at first, maybe, but for a while. He was too...perfect. Shaw turns out never to have been a perfect spy.

"He was pretending to be one to position himself for vengeance. He didn't give a damn about the Ring because they're a threat to good folk or the country, he gave a damn only because he thought they executed his wife. When he found out it was Walker. who did it, he was only too willing to change teams.

"He needs help, psychological help, General. Ain't no model; ain't no hero. Tells us something that a psycho could pass for what we, _you_, take to be the perfect spy..."

_Gotta get my shots in._

Beckman was silent. When she spoke she let the jab go, her way of accepting it. "Red Test? Walker?"

"Yes, ma'am. This whole shit-show rolls back to Langston Graham's tombstone, surprise, surprise."

"And Shaw...turned?"

"Like buttermilk in the baking sun. Gone bad."

Casey knew how much Beckman hated being wrong, especially being proven wrong. After a long, tense moment, she spoke again: "And where are Bartowski and Walker? Why weren't they there?"

"You...dismissed...me, General. Not my Team anymore. But I did bump into Walker this morning before I got onto Shaw. She was going to take a personal day. Assumed she told you?"

"No, I haven't heard from Agent Walker. Or Agent Bartowski. Did you _bump _into him today?"

"No, but I did talk to Morgan Grimes; I'm with Grimes. Bartowski is at some gaming convention, _Dragons R Us, _I think Grimes called it. Didn't ask for more info. Left that as _NTK_, and I didn't _NTK._"

"Dragons? Oh, damn, damn. Just keep the scene secure, a clean-up team and an ambulance with our people should be there within minutes, Casey."

"_Casey_?"

Silence. Beckman understood his question.

"_Colonel_ Casey."

"And the Team?"

"You're on it. Again. We can...negotiate...the details."

"Good to know. I have the thumb drive. I also should have an address of interest in a little while, a place to find a Ring leader, maybe a whole nest of Ring agents. — But right now, we need to talk about Grimes…"

Morgan had moved to stand beside Casey. He held out the thumb drive. Casey took it and put it in one of his CPO jacket pockets.

Casey finished negotiations with Beckman. When he ended the call, he turned to Morgan.

"So," Morgan said, looking at Shaw, "I'm on the Team?"

"Yep, but keep your day job."

Morgan looked hurt. Casey punched his shoulder. "It's your cover, numb-nuts."

"Oh, right," Morgan said, rubbing the spot where Casey hit him, Shaw's gun still in the handkerchief and in is hand.

"Why aren't you in the damn car?"

Morgan shrugged. "I got worried, so I slinked in a side door and found the stairwell, the door to the restaurant. I was looking through the small window for a while, then saw Shaw pull his gun. I saw him leading you to the door and guessed he would take you up there," Morgan glance up to the rooftop, "so I ran up and hid. Luckily, I was small enough to hide behind that A/C unit."

Casey put his hand on Morgan's shoulder. Gently. "You'll do, Grimes."

ooOoo

Shaw, still unconscious, had been cuffed to a stretcher and taken away in an ambulance.

Casey still had the thumb drive and was not giving it up until he had copies made and secured. Who knew what Shaw might say when he woke up? Casey had Morgan as a witness — but he had _Morgan _as a witness.

Best to preserve the video. Casey did not want to bring Alex, the waitress into this. His instinct was to protect her and he did not question his instinct.

Casey and Morgan got in the Vic. Casey called up the tracker from the balding Ring agent's car. It was now stationary, in a warehouse district not far away. Casey and Morgan drove to a spot near the source of the signal. Casey called Beckman, gave her the address. She was readying a strike team.

Casey was happy enough to leave it to them. He was not obliged to do it all, had none of the right equipment. Hell, he was just back on the clock, and it was Christmas Eve.

Besides, he wanted to know what had happened with Bartowski and Walker. He was hoping for the best, but knowing those two…

He started the car after the call. Morgan turned from the factory to face Casey. "Say, Casey, who was that waitress, the one you talked to, who helped you?"

"Why do you want to know, Grimes?"

Morgan shrugged. "She was really pretty."

Casey grunted. He aimed the car back toward his apartment.

He grunted again. The whole showdown with Shaw had shaken Casey. His own situation and Shaw's had distressing parallels. Same but different; different but the same. The whole mess with that bastard, Keller, the Laudanol, the threat to Kathleen.

_Treason_. Casey had, like it or not, gone down that path. Different intentions, same path. Different distances. Shaw had gone to the end. Casey had not, had turned back, but maybe that was a difference that made no difference. Maybe all that mattered was stepping onto the gawddamn path at all. The path to hell. Paved with good intentions, high-toned rhetoric.

_Duty_. But when your duty as a soldier or a spy violated your duty as a human being? No one should be damned so that others can be saved. Or be heroes.

Casey, back when he was still Alex Coburn, thought he made a pure-spun, selfless decision. But he now knew that was garbage. He made a decision that had radically altered his life, but it had also radically altered her life. Kathleen's. Casey had done it without her consent, done it knowing the hurt he would do. He had no right to do that, and, his talk about his choices being the right ones was aimed at himself, an attempt to convince himself.

He had let his mother know that he was still alive, although Keller did not know it. Casey could not let her think her son dead after she had lost his father.

But he never let Kathleen know. He hurt her horribly and let the hurt stand.

Hurt her. Her. _Kathleen. _

He had pushed her name from his mind except for one slip last night, but she had been present in what he decided then and in all he had done today. Helping Bartowski and Walker, if he had helped them, was a small attempt to make it up to her, despite her ignorance of it, and small attempt to right karma. And — Bartowski and Walker were Casey's friends, the only ones he had. And it was Christmas.

_Kathleen_.

And, thank God, Bartowski had saved her from Keller's men. Casey had almost hurt her again.

He could not face her, as desperately as he wanted to. He had forfeited all right to any place in her life; he was, as he deserved, castaway, in outer darkness. Weeping and gnashing of teeth.

For weeks after his decision to die — die as Alex Coburn — and be resurrected as John Casey, he had tried to ignore his pain, to tell himself that the depth of the pain he felt was a measure of the height of duty he achieved. He tried to console himself with another quotation from _The Springs of Greek Wisdom._

_Bear patiently, my heart — for you have suffered heavier things.  
_— _Homer_

He had not suffered heavier things, though, and he would suffer nothing comparable until the death — the apparent death — of Ilsa.

Casey had carried the guilt about Kathleen around forever, and sermonizing to himself about his duty did nothing to absolve him. But today had made him feel...better.

Thinking about Kathleen brought Alex to mind…

"Casey, what are you thinking about? The last five minutes have been a symphony of grunts. Can I help? That business with Shaw…"

It dawned on Casey that Morgan was upset. "Look, Grimes, you saved my life today. What happened to Shaw...He did that to himself. He would have killed me, there's no doubt."

Morgan nodded slowly. "I...know that. But it feels, now, now that the adrenaline is gone, it feels like he...landed on me."

"It's a hell of a thing, Grimes, Morgan, doing what we do. You got the thorn, and there ain't many roses. This shit ain't Walther PPKs and shaken cocktails. It's a grind, physical and spiritual. And I won't pretend there's some pot of gold at the end of the NSA rainbow that'll make it all seem okay. It'd be fool's gold, best…"

"I get it, Casey."

"No, you don't, Morgan. But you're starting to. Look to Bartowski if you want a role model. Figure out how to do this without losing yourself."

"Chuck almost did, didn't he?"

Casey chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, but you saved him, or saving you that day in Castle saved him. Maybe it will turn out to save Walker too."

They rode on in silence. Finally, Casey spat dryly. "Alex, Morgan. The waitress, her name is Alex."

Casey parked the Vic at the apartment complex and he and Morgan hurried toward the apartment. Casey had the big, black duffle over his back.

"John!"

_Shit, Ellie. _"John Casey!"

Ellie had come out of her apartment and was walking toward them.

"Hey, Ellie."

"Where's Chuck, John?"

"Don't know, not for sure." _That's the truth. _

"Do you know where he is, Morgan?"

Morgan shrugged. "Not sure."

"What's going on, John? I haven't seen you for a while? Or Sarah. Is something wrong? Chuck ended things with Hannah. She's gone too. Why is everyone disappearing?"

_Because spies, like everyone else, fall in love. They just do it badly. _Casey shrugged.

"Well, if you see him, tell him I'm expecting him for Christmas tomorrow, like always. Sarah too, if...if she wants to come."

"I'll tell him if I see him. Her too."

"And both of you, of course; it's a family day."

Ellie turned to go back to her apartment. Casey watched her go. He was hoping for a family day too, an extended Team B holiday.

Casey opened the door to his apartment and he and Morgan went in. He dropped the bag and went to his computer. He had set up a surveillance piggy-back on the Barstow restaurant he sent both Walker and Bartowski too. Everything there should have been recorded. Casey figured Walker should have arrived an hour or two ago, Bartowski soon afterward.

Casey called up the footage. He fast-forwarded until he saw Walker arrive. Morgan pulled up a chair. Casey poured them both a tumbler of Johnny Walker. He took a sip. Morgan did too, then coughed. Casey looked at him and Morgan nodded.

"Like watching the big game on tape-delay, huh?" Casey said with a wry grin. Morgan crossed his fingers and Casey started the tape.

Walker rushed into the restaurant and looked around, panic plain on her face. He saw her say, "Chuck?" She scanned the restaurant, then went she went and ducked in the Men's room. She came out a moment later, looking worse than before. She scanned the restaurant again. The man Casey bribed saw her and approached. He said something to her and Walker's face became puzzled. Casey was praying she would not hurt the poor guy.

A moment later, Bartowski barrelled through the door and into the restaurant. Walker ran to him and threw herself at him, into his arms. Bartowski caught her, hugged her to him.

Casey stopped the video, then aligned the feed from Bartowski's bug as close as he could to the video. The sync was imperfect, a second or so behind. Morgan laughed quietly as Casey started them both together. "Like watching dubbed Kung Fu films."

Casey sat back with his glass.

"Sarah," Bartowski said urgently, "are you okay?"

Walker's head was buried in Bartowski's chest but she nodded. "What's going on?" Bartowski asked.

Walker pulled back. "I came to save you."

"I came to save you," Bartowski countered. "How did you end up here?"

"Casey," Walker explained. "You?"

"Morgan."

"Huh?" They both said simultaneously.

Walker looked around suspiciously. "I think we've been set up." She took Bartowski's hand and they walked to a booth and sat down, Walker on one side, Bartowski on the other.

"Shit," was Casey's comment.

"Casey told me you came here to meet a Ring agent who had threatened me."

"Morgan told me the same about you. — Where's Shaw?"

Walker shrugged. "Don't know. Right now, Chuck, I don't care."

"You don't?" Bartowski's question mixed hope and puzzlement.

"No, I only care about you."

Casey and Morgan watched as Bartowski gathered himself. "Sarah, Sarah...I…"

"Chuck, did you execute Perry?"

Bartowski slumped. "No, Sarah. I keep trying to tell you. I didn't. But I can't explain…"

Walker's face showed her pain. "I believe you."

"I didn't do it, but...Wait, you _believe _me?"

"Casey showed me the gun I gave you, the very gun. It hadn't been fired. Why didn't you tell me to check it?"

"I...I didn't think...I was so...mixed up. If I didn't kill Perry I was going to lose you. If I killed him, I was going to lose you. Logic says that I was going to lose you…"

"Chuck, why do you want to be a spy?"

"Because I want to be with you, Sarah. And I didn't see any other way. I felt...I feel like the..you know…" – Bartowski tapped his temple — "I felt like it required me to help. I was trying to live up to your example, yours and Casey's…"

"And Shaw kept pushing…"

"But so did you. You didn't seem to feel anything about...what happened. About Prague…"

Walker slumped. "Prague...Prague nearly _killed_ me, Chuck. I didn't see any way forward except to...give you up...give us up."

"Us?"

"I'm...sorry, Chuck. I left you to work all this out on your own. And then that damned Red Test…"

"I didn't know what to do, Sarah. But I couldn't just shoot him, gun him down."

The restaurant owner came to the table and put down two cups of coffee. Bartowski looked up. "We didn't order these."

"They were ordered for you." The man left.

"Casey," Walker said.

And then Casey saw her face shift, saw knowledge on it. "That's right, Walker," Casey urged, "think…"

"It was Casey!"

"The coffee?" Bartowski asked.

"Yes. The coffee. And Perry."

Bartowski folded his arms and said nothing.

"C'mon, kid. The jig is up. Tell her."

Casey felt Morgan's eyes on him. "Casey?"

"I'll explain later. Pay attention!"

"You were going to lose me. Let me go with Shaw, rather than tell me…" Walker was talking to herself now.

Walker went on, shifting her attention to Bartowski. "I had a Red Test too, Chuck, and I've been...re-living it. The worst day of my life."

Casey fished the thumb drive out of his pocket and waved it at Morgan. Morgan's eyes widened, and then he nodded. "Oh."

"That day...nearly destroyed me. Maybe it did, but the effects were delayed. It was the beginning of my...special work...for Graham."

Bartowski leaned forward and put out his hand. "Sarah, I didn't know. I should have known…"

"I was of no help. I thought maybe you really wanted...this life...that life...my life. That you were choosing it after I made it clear that I didn't want it."

"Prague?"

Walker nodded softly. Bartowski's head dropped. They sat for a moment.

"C'mon...c'mon...Talk to each other, gawddamnit." Casey said, moving to the edge of his seat. Morgan was already on the edge of his.

Bartowski finally looked up. "This is all my fault, all of it. I bungled in Prague. I let Beckman make me feel like I had to give up...the things I cared about, if I was going to succeed. And I have felt like such a failure for so long."

Walker stiffened. "But why, Chuck? Look at all we've done."

"We, Sarah? I was just...along for the ride. The schmuck in the car."

Walker slapped the tabletop. "No, no. You may not have been the one with the gun and the badge, but you were the one defusing the bombs, swinging from Buy More signs. You were the hero. You were always the hero."

Bartowski looked lost. "But not the right kind of hero. I wanted...I wanted to be like Bryce, or Barker...or Shaw. I wanted to be the man you chose, not the man you got stuck with…"

Casey slammed his glass down, sloshing Johnny Walker on the desk. "Christ, Bartowski…"

"Chuck," Walker said, putting her hand out tentatively, "you _are_ my choice...from the beginning. You were the one I chose, but...circumstances...my own cowardice...I was afraid to acknowledge my choice…"

"Prague?"

Walker nodded. Bartowski extended his hand and put it in hers. "You were choosing me, not just...saving me?"

"No more than my showing up here today was just me saving you. It was...it is...me choosing you. I choose you, Chuck."

"But Shaw...DC...you were there together. You are...were...going to DC."

"Yes, but only because I blamed myself for the choice I thought you made. I thought the spy life was your choice."

"Jesus," Casey roared at the video, "who is writing this crap?!"

Bartowski moved his hand so that it encircled Walker's. "But I only chose...And then I thought I couldn't choose you anymore. And so I tried to become what Shaw wanted me to be. It seemed like the only choice I had left."

"And...Hannah? Weren't you choosing the...real girl?"

Bartowski grimaced. "Hannah...I'm so sorry about that too. Of all the things I've done since Prague, I hate that more than anything. It took me a long time to see it. It took Morgan getting into Castle...I didn't choose her. I made her...my asset. _My asset_." Bartowski grimaced again. "I did to her the very things I feared you were doing to me our first two years together, Sarah. I manipulated her, lied to her...I never consciously meant to do it, but I did. I used her to...convince myself that I could make do without you. I used her. You were right. I changed." Bartowski's tone was one of utter defeat. Casey heard Morgan sniffle.

"I did too, Chuck. Shaw and I...I just wanted to forget Burbank, the mess of things I made of it, of you…" Walker put her other hand over Chuck's. "I've been so confused." Walker looked down. "And...I wanted to _hurt_ you. I slapped you, beat on you with bo sticks, told Shaw secrets I would not tell you...Nothing has ever hurt me the way Prague hurt me. I wanted to see it, to know that I could hurt you the way you hurt me. I wanted to stop my pain but hurting you made it worse, not better. Then Shaw made me administer that damn Red Test and I got so lost in my pain, old and new, that I...I made horrible decisions. I should have said no. Or stopped you. Or not run to DC. Or not…"

Walker looked up at Bartowski, tears on her cheeks. His cheeks were wet too. Morgan was crying.

"It's...It's okay, Sarah. Really. Let's not let pain...and shame...keep us apart anymore, please."

"All right, kid, all right," Casey said, his voice cracking, "do it. Say it, for God's sake!"

"All I care about," Bartowski went on softly, his voice and manner all forgiveness, all request for forgiveness, "all I care about is you. I love you, Sarah Walker. I love you. I love you." Sarah's head lifted. "I'm going to say it again because the words have been eating a hole in me for three years. I love you. Please don't go to DC. Stay with me. Stay with the Team. We can find a way. I have the agent badge now, whatever the circumstances. No handler. No asset. — You aren't going to tell and neither will I. It could lead to bad things for Casey, maybe, and I don't want to build my happiness on his downfall. He saved me."

"No, Chuck, he saved us both. Casey and Morgan."

Casey wiped at his eyes with his wrist.

Walker got up and moved to Bartowski's side of the booth. She slid to him and embraced him. They kissed each other, locked together for a long, long time.

Morgan drained his glass and started coughing.

Casey toasted the screen. "Not perfect, maybe, but it'll do."

The manager came back to the table and put an envelope on it. "Good man," Casey muttered, "right on cue. Morgan, everything, and I mean _everything_, is arranged?"

Morgan nodded through his coughing and blubbering.

"What's this?" Walker asked but the man had walked away. She tore open one end of the envelope and dumped the contents on the table. A key and a piece of paper.

She picked up the key. "It's a hotel key." She handed it to Bartowski and picked up the paper. Casey knew what it said.

_Merry Christmas. Get it right this time, you two. Gawddamnit.  
_— _Casey_

_PS You know the place._

"Sarah," Bartowski said in a voice full of wonder, "I think this is a key to that room at the hotel, the one where we…"

Walker folded the paper and put it in her purse. She looked around the restaurant, then looked into the security camera. "Thank you, John," she mouthed unmistakably and then smiled. She stood up and yanked Bartowski from the booth and pulled him out of the restaurant, almost at a run.

Casey turned to Morgan. "You fixed that _I.O.U._ problem? Just in case?"

Morgan grinned. "A full box, big box, middle of the bed."

Casey stood and stretched. He laughed long and hard. "Ho, ho, ho! Hermey, we know what Walker's going to get in her stocking."

It took Morgan a minute.

* * *

A/N: One final chapter to go, Four: "The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul".

Thoughts?


	5. Epilogue: The Man Who Sailed

A/N: And now the brief epilogue of our little plaid Christmas tale.

* * *

**A Year Without Christmas?**

Epilogue: The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul

* * *

Casey shut down the computer, turned off the bugs. He poured himself a generous re-fill of Johnny Walker and motioned with the bottle to Morgan's glass. He shook his head _no_, still teary-eyed from his earlier choking and crying. Casey's eyes were watery too.

Even though Morgan refused the drink, he sat back in his chair, off his precarious perch on its edge. "So, we don't need to watch over them anymore, Chuck and Sarah?"

Casey huffed good-naturedly. "No, I'm certain Agent Walker has Agent Bartowski well in hand by now. — I probably should've stowed a couple of those donut tailbone pillows in Walker's Porsche. They'll likely need them tomorrow."

It took Morgan a moment again. "Oh. Oh!"

"So what happens with them now?"

Casey got a far-off look in his eyes, shrugged. "They'll have to get this past Beckman, but I like their chances. Beckman's been down a similar road, for better and for worse. And now that Chuck's an agent…"

"But, he didn't actually do that Red Test thingy, right? Did I understand? You did it."

Casey gave Morgan a long look. "If you're gonna be on the Team, you gotta figure out what to say and what not to say, Morgan. So, keep this to yourself, do you hear me?"

Morgan nodded.

"Yeah. Like you said this morning, Bartowski could pull the trigger to save Walker...or Ellie, or Devon, or you...or me. But he can't pull one in cold blood. It ain't in him, in his wiring. But the Red Test is some barbaric shit dreamed up by Langston Graham and his intelligence-service cronies." Casey wove his fingers together and flexed his hands, palms out, cracking his knuckles, an expression of disgust on his face. He picked up his glass and stood, anger making him move.

"Always been more about them controlling the agent than about the agent earning status. You heard Walker. Her Red Test day was her...shatterday." Casey fought off the memory of his own, long ago. "I figure a lot of Walker's...troubles...tie back to that day, one way or another. Shaw making her administer that for Bartowski was one cold, calculated, psychotic move — kill three birds with one shot: Walker's feelings for Chuck, Chuck's sense of himself, and the mole. _Sonovabitch_ might've pulled it off.

"Don't know that _all_ of him knew what he was doing _all_ of the time," Casey shook his hands, his cracked knuckles. "Divide yourself enough, slice yourself up inside, and...well, ...you can fool all of yourself some of the time, and some of yourself all of the time, but you can't fool all of yourself all of the time. Shaw knew, or some of him knew, some times, the shit he was up to." Casey took a long sip from his glass, and sat back down.

"So…" Morgan said, "it was Sarah, right, her Red Test? And that's what's on the thumb drive?"

Casey's eyes widened. Morgan hurried on. "I heard you and Shaw talking, coming up the stairs. Too cold for the A/C unit to be running..."

Casey sat back in his chair. "That's right. I executed the mole. Sarah executed Shaw's wife. Sure she had no idea who Evelyn was. My bet's that Graham withheld the name of the target. Walker has no idea who she…. — well, all she knows is what Graham told her, and knowing him, that was basically squat."

"Jesus…" Morgan sighed, "what a mess. Are we...you...going to tell Sarah?"

Casey closed his eyes and started to answer. "Got to. It'd come out anyway. Shaw's gone. Beckman knows." He opened his eyes and gave Morgan a stern glance. "But they get tonight and tomorrow to...just be about them. I'll give them some story when they get back. Then I'll tell them in a day or two. Lucky for us, I don't think Shaw is likely to be on either of their minds. And when they know the truth, I don't think they'll be too broken up…"

"But, Sarah, wasn't she...Didn't she?"

Casey lifted his hands, palms up, and shrugged. "Well…, not sure. Probably. But she never loved the guy, not one _iota_, and she knew it. All of her knew it, all of the time, even if she kept trying to pull off some kind of self-Cherniak…"

"Cherniak?" Morgan asked, blinking. "You mean the nuclear power plant, the disaster?..Cher— Cher—." Morgan was lost.

"Not _Chernobyl_. _Cherniak_."

"Oh, that thing you do when you are choking!"

"No, numb-nuts. _The Amazing Boris_. The hypnotist. Thought you were the obscure pop reference guy."

"Haven't paid much attention to hypnotists…"

Casey gave him a long look. "Well, she was trying to hypnotize herself. Like someone trying to kick cigarettes. She was trying to kick her Bartowski habit. Didn't work, though. You saw."

Morgan's face split into a happy grin. "Yeah."

They were still for a minute. "So, her name is Alex?" Morgan asked, leaning forward.

Casey nodded. "Yeah, Alex. She seems like a nice girl." Casey's tone grew...dangerous.

Morgan leaned back a little. "Right."

Another still minute. Morgan yawned. "I'm bushed. I'm gonna go get a little shut-eye. Visions of sugar plums, you know?"

"Uh-huh. I'm tired too." Casey stood and Morgan did too.

Another still minute.

"Um, look, Grimes...Morgan. Good work today. I owe you."

Morgan looked embarrassed. "We did good, didn't we?"

"Even more than we planned on. Above and beyond. Betting Beckman's attack on that Fulcrum hideout will yield dividends."

Casey extended his hand. Morgan took it. They shook hands. Casey opened the door. Morgan gave Casey a small smile, then he left the apartment and headed to his.

Casey shut the door.

He sighed. Alone.

He walked back to his chair and took a drink of his whiskey.

He was alone again. But he had friends. Two good ones. Walker and Bartowski. Chuck and Sarah.

And another. A third. Grimes. Morgan.

He took another drink, swallowing slow and deliberate, maximizing the sweet burn of the whiskey.

Walker had...finally...acknowledged her choice. Casey was sure it would stick. Walker was not the same as, say, Carina Miller. Walker was a deep file, secrets within secrets. Miller was all surface — _lovely surface_, Casey mused, as an image of her in nothing but his lucky boxers flitted in and out of his mind — Walker was all depths. Getting to her heart took someone like Bartowski, a pearl diver of a man, capable of holding his breath for..._what?_ — Casey checked his watch — almost three, _three_ gawddamn years.

_The kid has true grit_.

The kid. _Kid_. An image of Alex smiling at him seized Casey's mind, halting everything, including his breathing.

_Christ-on-a-Cracker: she looks almost exactly like Kathleen did years ago. _

Casey had basically run from Kathleen's when she did not recognize him, hoping she would not. He had not taken any time to look around, he had been first so frightened for her and second so frightened for himself. — Did Kathleen have a daughter?

Casey had managed over the years to keep himself from digging into Kathleen's life. As much as a part of him wanted to know, another, deeper, part of him did not. He was not sure he could go on if he knew much, that he could keep doing the job.

But he got up and turned on his computer. It took a few minutes of digging, but Kathleen did have a daughter, Alexandra. Casey chased Alex around, finding her on various social media. The same girl, the same young woman. Her age, her date of birth…Alex McHugh. _Jesus._

_A daughter._ Casey had a daughter. He stumbled back to his chair and sat down, staring into space.

There was a knock on the door. Casey got up, still dumbfounded, and opened it automatically. He expected to see Morgan. Instead, it was Alex. Casey stared at her, his dumbfoundedness dumbfounded.

"Um...Hi, John."

"Alex? What are you doing here? How?"

She gave him a nervous smile. "I saw you leave with that guy, the guy at the other table, the video... And when you left, I bussed the table for Matilda. I found this where that guy was sitting." She held out the Ring phone that Shaw had. Casey had forgotten about it in everything that happened, and taken it for granted that it was on Shaw when Shaw was taken away. Casey had left the check of Shaw's person to the team Beckman sent.

Casey snatched the phone. Alex pulled her hand back, looked hurt

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that this is...evidence. Important evidence. You didn't use it, did you?"

"No," Alex said, shaking her head, "I didn't do anything with it. I figured I would bring it to you after my shift. Call it a strange Secret Santa gift." She gave Casey a smile that he had not seen in years, Kathleen's smile, clever and cheeky.

He almost fell down. He locked his knees, took a deep breath.

"Alex, how did you find me?"

She got a shy look on her face. "I saw you leave the parking lot — with a bearded guy. I got the license plate of your car. Couldn't catch you. — Like the Crown Vic, by the way. Mom has stories about...a guy who owned one, a guy she knew, a long time ago. — Anyway, Matilda's sister works at the DMV. I figured it was a long shot but she kept after it and found your address. I guess the car's yours, not a company car."

_Not a Company car. _"Yeah, it's mine. Got a thing for fine Yankee craftsmanship,"

She grinned. "Well, I guess that's my errand. I've got to go. Christmas Eve celebration at my mom's. Hope to see you at _Comfort Food _again. I work there a lot; helps pay my way through school."

Casey thought about asking her in, but thought better of it. This had been present enough, gift enough, and he needed time to think, feel his way through it.

"Thanks, Alex, thanks a lot. I will definitely be back. How's the pie?"

"Excellent. Try the apple or the walnut."

"Walnut?"

"You won't regret it. Promise. No regrets."

"Then I'll do it. No regrets."

She gave him that smile again and turned away. He watched his daughter — _my daughter _— walk away. He was beaming, and scared to death.

He shut the door and took a breath. Re-energized, he went to the computer. A generous, anonymous donor was going to help Alex McHugh with her college tuition, her father. Casey cracked his knuckles again and got to work.

When he finished, sure that his tracks were covered and that the tuition would be paid, Casey made a phone call to Barstow, to a pizza place, and sent a veggie pizza, no olives, to Walker and Bartowski's room. They needed to keep up their strength.

Casey clipped a cigar, slid the cigar band off it. He breathed it in. _To hell with Castro but God bless Cuba!_

He walked outside and lit his cigar. Someone in a nearby apartment turned on a radio, and Christmas music wafted into the courtyard, mixing with the grey wreaths of Casey's cigar smoke.

He thought of his dad. He thought of his mom. He thought of Kathleen. He thought of Alex. What to do about her? _Get to know her. Be of whatever help I can without messing anything up._

_I got a daughter, gawddamnit. _He wanted to dance, to laugh out loud.

He took another puff on the cigar, then looked at the steely gray, lengthening ash.

Casey knew he was getting older. His ash was lengthening too, so much of his life now smoke, gone. But he was not dead. Not by a long shot. And, he was not Daniel Shaw, poor dumb bastard.

He looked at Ellie's apartment, could see blinking lights inside. Casey had a home, friends. A daughter.

Tomorrow would be a Team Bartowski Christmas. He would grumble and grunt and enjoy every _fa-la-ladyfeelings_ moment of it.

He finished his cigar. Smiling, he went inside — _presents to wrap, gawddamnit, and then I'll call Mom_.

* * *

The man who walked across his heart  
Was doomed to journey to the start  
Of every love affair he'd broken  
All the lies he'd ever spoken  
Tattooed on his arm

And the jellyfish stings  
Even angels with wings  
Who look too deep  
And dare to peep

Now he sits all alone  
Knowing flesh blood and bone  
Is everything  
He found the treasure he'd been seeking  
The man who sailed around his soul

-XTC, _The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul_

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I'd really appreciate a review or a PM.

Check out the video for the XTC song. I think you'll get a kick out of it in relation to the story.

I'm finishing up my other Christmas story, _Red and Green. _You may want to take a look at it. It's lighter fare.

A Merry Christmas or a Happy Holidays to all!

— Zettel


End file.
